


Magnetic Subconcious

by GlibbityGlop



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Diapers, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, I can't do titles, M/M, No Sex, Non-Abusive!Alan, Non-Sexual Watersports, Stiles/Other off-screen only, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 10:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11965194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlibbityGlop/pseuds/GlibbityGlop
Summary: Alone and up-set, Stiles end ups steering himself to Alan's Motel. There, Alan takes care of him.Inspired by my love of H/C and Udunie's Room 27.





	Magnetic Subconcious

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Room 27](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262907) by [Udunie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie). 



> Fic contains and may squick: Mentions of physical abuse, emotional manipulation, financial control, etc. in an on-going off-screen relationship. Bruises, implied beating, and a small amount of blood. Mentions of disordered eating. Alan gives Stiles some 'medicine' which causes him to lose control of a bodily function and slightly alters his mental state. 
> 
> I don't know how much sense this will make if you haven't read Room 27, and would suggest reading that first. This would take place somewhere after the currently unfinished sequel to Room 27. 
> 
> Unbetaed.

Stiles sat in his Jeep, watching the windscreen wipers quickly swipe the torrential downpour of rain back and forth. Outside the sheets of rain and cloud cover made it look like it could be night. He was parked, but the windscreen wipers were hypnotic. He didn't know how long he'd been looking at them when there was a knock on the window by his head.

Stiles flinched, the sudden movement reminding him of his injuries. He had the sudden realisation he didn't know where he was, and he couldn't see anything but the outline of a figure. 

Moving slowly, sense alert, he wound down his window an inch, rain immediately pouring in. 

“Stiles?” someone asked, voice thready on the wind. They leant closer, and Stiles recognised Deaton. “Is that you?” 

“Alan!? What are you doing here?” Stiles had the sudden insane idea he was being stalked. As if Deaton had known he was alone in trouble somewhere and had come to get him. 

There was no answer, Stiles looking closer out the window as the shadow of Deaton disappeared. His face was dripping wet in the moment it took for there to be a knock on the passenger side door. 

Stiles unlocked his doors, the door opened only as wide as needed and Alan slid in, the door slamming shut behind him. Stiles wound his window up. 

Alan crinkled as he turned to look at him, brushing his rain-slicker hood off his head. He was getting rain all over the inside of Stiles' car, but probably less than if Stiles kept the window open. 

They turned and looked at each other in the enclosed space, the rain and wind muted. It gave the feeling of being in their own small world, nothing else visible or audible but nature raging outside, separated by only sheets of metal and plastic. The windscreen wipers made a slow dragging noise over the window in front of them. 

“Hello Stiles.”

“Alan.” Stiles licked his lips as he frowned. “How'd you find me?”

Alan raised both eyebrows. “You're at my motel.”

Stiles tried to peer through the rain. “Oh.” 

“I assume that means you didn't mean to come here?”

Stiles thought back to sitting in front of his dad's house, his childhood home, and knowing he couldn't go inside. Muscle memory must have brought him here. Stiles shrugged in response to Alan's question. “I needed someone to go. I guess I wound up here.” Stiles couldn't meet the manager's eyes. There was a beat where Alan didn't say anything. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise.” Alan sounded hesitant as well. “Do you need a room?” 

Stiles considered the question. He thought about staying in room 27 and... a full-body shudder worked through him, not in anticipation or pleasure but dread. He couldn't do anything in his current condition and – and Alan would see... 

Then the more obvious barrier worked its way through his brain. “I don't have any money.” Matt still had his wallet. He dared a look at Alan, who had one eyebrow halfway up his forehead. 

“Would you like to tell me what's going on, that you wound up here with no money, not knowing where you were?”

Stiles shivered again, feeling his insides rattling. He felt his eyes overflow with tears so it blurred his vision, a painful lump appearing in his throat. “No. I'm sorry, I'll go.”

“Where will you go?” 

Stiles sniffed. He couldn't go to his Dad's. He couldn't go back to his apartment. Scott's? No, he was away at uni. He could sleep in his car though. His eyes flickered to his fuel gauge. He couldn't go far without petrol money. “Can I stay here? In the parking lot? I can't afford a room, but I promise I'll be gone in the morning.” 

Alan put a hand on his shoulder. Stiles felt the warmth and weight of it through his damp hoodie and t-shirt. “If you can't afford a room you can always stay with me,” Alan said gently. 

Stiles shook his head. If he stayed with Alan, Alan would expect to mess around. He wouldn't invite Stiles in just so Stiles could take up all that space and eat all his food and for nothing in return. Stiles sniffed again. God, now he needed a tissue. Fuck. 

“You don't need to spend the night,” Alan said gently. “Why don't you come in for a cup of tea? It'll help you warm you up. You don't need to stay for any longer than you'd like. We can just talk.” Alan always seemed to know what he was thinking and have the perfect response. But thinking about that just made him think about Matt and, fuck, now he was properly crying. Alan was never going to want to fuck him again if Stiles couldn't get his shit together.

Stiles accepted the invitation with a nod. “Thanks.”

“Wait there. I'll come round.” Alan was out of the car and around in a few seconds. Stiles turned the car and wipers off. Alan opened his door for him, and Stiles slid out. Alan had his rain slicker open, and embraced Stiles with it. It didn't go all around him, but Alan half-hugged him close as he led Stiles towards the office entrance.

As soon as they entered, Alan disengaged. Stiles was thankful but disappointed. 

They entered, Stiles beeping his car closed from the distance. He saw his headlights light up for a second dimly in the darkness. He swiped furiously at his face with his sleeves, trying to get the rain off and take any snot and tears with it. 

Alan had wandered through the door in the back that lead to his personal accommodation. Stiles followed after making sure the door was shut properly. 

He couldn't see Alan immediately and looked around, feeling lost.

“I'm just in the bathroom,” Alan called. He appeared in the doorway of his bedroom a moment later. “I didn't want to take my shoes and jacket off on the carpet.” He took a good look at Stiles. “Why don't you sit down and I'll put the kettle on?” 

There was a small space heater sat turned on in front of the couch. Stiles dropped onto the couch gratefully, feeling his wet clothes underneath him and scooting forwards closer to the edge. The walk from the car had left him drenched. His clothes felt like a thin second layer of skin pressing into him. 

As he was getting the tea ready, Alan asked, “Do you have a dry change of clothes in your car? I can go back and get them.”

“No,” Stiles said dully. “This was... last minute.”

“Well why don't you take those off and I'll put them in the dryer for you?”

Stiles looked up to meet Alan's eyes. If Alan insisted, Stiles would do it. Wouldn't he? No, he couldn't let Alan see his back and let him know. Even if his disobedience meant Alan wouldn't want to do anything with him in the future. Just the thought of it made Stiles' gut clench. It didn't matter what path he took, all paths lead to failure. The face he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten was probably making his emotional, because the thought of losing this place, of losing Alan and the experiences he wanted to have and what he might have in the future... before he knew it he was crying again. 

“Stiles,” Alan said gently. “If you don't have any of your own, you can borrow my clothes.” 

Stiles took in a gulp of breath, feeling like the earth had stopped shattering. “Thank you.” 

Alan went into the bedroom and came out empty-handed, in a different outfit himself. “They're on the bed. They should fit well enough for a few hours. Put your wet clothes in the clothes basket. Are you hungry?” 

Stiles stood and his stomach grumbled loudly. Alan smiled at him. “I'll put something on. Spaghetti?” 

Stiles nodded, feeling delicate like the wrong pressure could shatter him into a million pieces on the floor. He went into the bedroom, closing the door lightly behind himself. He changed quickly except to deliberate over whether he'd borrow the underpants laid out. The idea of wearing Alan's underwear made him feel a strange sort of want. Alan's clothes were clean, and loose, and most importantly, they smelt like him and detergent. Stiles lifted his borrowed shirt to his nose and huffed. He shivered. He was wearing Alan's clothes. Against all reason, his cock twitched inside borrowed underwear. He wriggled his toes in thick white socks, feeling warmer already. The jumper was soft and thick and warm despite the extra space on Stiles' lithe frame compared to Alan's bulk. They were roughly equal height so it fit better than expected. 

With his sodden gear in the basket, and a quick trip to the toilet, Stiles emerged. Alan looked up from the kitchen and smiled at him. Something was cooking on the stove. 

“Stir the pasta,” Alan directed, “While I put the dryer on.”

Stiles was grateful for the direction. He was grateful Alan wasn't pushing anything. And now he was dry, and about to be fed. He felt light-headed all of a sudden. He went to one knee, clutching the counter. He took long, low breathes like was sipping air. He struggled back to his feet, not wanting Alan to see him like that. 

Alan came back, carrying a phone. “You left this in your pocket.”

Stiles took it. “Thanks.” He saw 57 missed calls and 12 missed texts. The phone slipped from his hand. He felt very light-headed again. They room seemed to sway in front of his eyes, but based on the way Alan gripped his arms, he was the one swaying. 

Alan was making shushing noises even though Stiles didn't think he was saying anything. Alan lead him to a seat at the table, helping him down. Stiles slumped back, jerking upright and hissing as his back made contact with solid wood. Alan looked at him, face as zen as ever, but eyes seeing everything. 

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I think I had breakfast this morning. Otherwise... lunch. Yesterday.” 

Alan put a hand on his forehead before sweeping it through Stiles' hair, fingertips digging in wonderfully. Stiles eyes slipped shut on a sigh. Alan did it a few more times. Spoiling him. 

“Stay there.” Alan put a glass of water with a straw on the table in front of him without a word and went back to the spaghetti. “Sip slowly but drink it all.” His phone ended up on the table as well, screen pressed against the wood. 

By the time the glass was empty, the spaghetti was ready. The tomato sauce had mince and vegetables through it. It smelt amazing and Stiles' stomach gurgled in response. He didn't know how to feel when Alan set down a knife, fork and spoon in front of him. So Alan wouldn't be feeding him. Fine. Good. He didn't know what the spoon was for until he saw Alan twirling the pasta onto his fork using it. 

Stiles finished his plate before Alan had even finished half of his. Alan looked at him fondly. “You may have seconds.” 

Stiles smiled his thanks, going to grab it straight from the pot. He finished that plate at the same time Alan finished his. Alan smiled at him warmly, eyes twinkling. Stiles wanted to stay in that moment for at least another hour. 

They ended up in front of the television, sitting next to each other, heater warming their feet. Something was on Stiles had never seen before. He was happy to sit quietly. Just sitting near Alan let him enter part of that quiet space in his mind. 

He didn't say anything as Alan reached across halfway through the episode and hooked Stiles by the back of the neck, and pulled him down so his head was resting on Alan's thigh, half-lying down. “Relax, sweet,” Alan whispered. “Nothing's going to get you here.”

He half-woke as Alan stood some time later and left the room. He opened his eyes when Alan gave his ankle a small shake. “Your clothes are dry, sweet.” 

Stiles sat up slowly. That probably meant it was time to leave. A hand was in hair again, dragging along nerve endings. Stiles wanted to purr. Now he was fed and rested, he could probably stand to face his father. He might make it back it to the house just as his fuel ran out, if he was lucky. 

He stood slowly, feeling warm and foggy from sleep. Alan directed him to his clothes in the bedroom. Stiles changed into them quickly, losing the warmth of the worn fabric. He was shaking out his jacket, when he saw it. Blood. In the crumpled heap of Alan's clothes was the shirt he'd worn, with blood specks across the inner back. Stiles went from feeling fuzzy and optimistic to ready to hyperventilate in the millisecond it took to figure out what he was seeing. 

A second later he had a thought and ripped his jacket open to look at his own shirt. But no, it was black. Red wouldn't have shown up on it. Alan probably didn't realise. 

He just couldn't let Alan see the shirt. Wash it? Stiles picked it up, after checking there was no blood in the underwear, and took it to the sink. He scrubbed at the spots with his fingers under cold water. They turned a faint pink but remained. Would a washing machine get rid of it? 

Stiles chucked everything into the plastic laundry basket and picked it up. He'd just offer, really persistently, to wash the used clothes. 

“Hi, Alan,” Stiles said as he entered the lounge. Alan was sitting, feet in slippers, one hand on his stomach. He looked like an advert for something domestic. It was weird to see the man who'd fisted him looking so every-day and innocuous. “I thought I'd help by doing the washing,” hefting the basket a few inches higher. 

“That's not necessary Stiles. Thank you for offering.” 

“No, really. I'd feel better if I did it.” 

Alan stood and Stiles took a step back. Alan was approaching him and Stiles had the mad urge to hide the laundry basket behind himself somehow. Alan picked up the sodden shirt and thumbed a pinkish stain. 

“Are you bleeding, Stiles?” he asked calmly, eyes finding Stiles' and not letting go. 

“No.” Stiles sucked in a breath. “Just a bit. Earlier.”

“Will you show me?” 

“No. It's nothing.” 

Alan took a step forward. “You came here for a reason. You can trust me, Stiles. Remember, I used to be a vet.” He reached out with one hand, cupping Stiles' jaw lightly and dragging his thumb across his cheek. “Maybe I can help, but only if I know what we're dealing with.”

Stiles looked at the man in front of him. He'd never hurt him. Well, he had. But only to get Stiles off. Stiles hadn't wanted to mess around, and they hadn't. Alan had only cooked for him, given him his clothes... And he wouldn't push. If Stiles decided to leave, Alan would let him. Alan wouldn't corner him and tear his shirt off him, and demand to see. 

Stiles breathed in through his nose. Alan would see. And he'd know. But maybe he wouldn't throw him out or refuse to play with him any more. Maybe Stiles could share this with Alan as well and it'd be alright. 

Stiles put the basket down. “Okay.” He took his shirt off, wincing at the stretch of flesh on his back as he pulled it over his head, and turned to face the wall. 

He didn't know what he'd expected Alan's reaction to be, but it was unnerving when there wasn't one. He thought maybe a gasp, or an exclamation. It was like the quietness Alan emitted had turned solid somehow and Stiles was highly aware he couldn't hear or feel anything from behind him. 

“A-Alan?” Stiles asked after a minute. 

“Who- ... Was this consensual?” His voice was flat like the vertical side of a sheer cliff. 

Stiles considered before answering. “Yes.” 

“Is this why you're here?” 

“A bit.” He kept expecting Alan to reach out and touch him as continued to stare at the wall or floor. He knew it might hurt, but he wanted Alan to touch him all the same. 

“Would you like me to treat this?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I have supplies. I can treat this. Creams and tonics. Are you in pain?”

“Sort of. Not really. Only if I move a certain way or sit down against something hard. Mostly I just ignore it. You know.”

“I'm going to get supplies. Go into the bedroom. Take all of your clothes off. Lie down on your front on the bed and wait. Understand?” 

Stiles shivered. “Yes.” He waited a second before moving. He ignored the impulse to look back. The fact he hadn't seen Alan's face since showing him left him feeling off-balance. 

He considered the irony as he wriggled naked on the bedspread. He'd been adamant he wouldn't let Alan see and now here he was, laid out for him. He bit his lip, head turned towards the door, waiting. A minute passed. Than another. In the quiet his concerns crawled back into his brain. Maybe Alan was mad at him. For going somewhere else or for letting this be done to him. For the fact Stiles had deserved it. Maybe it was duty of care motivating him to look after Stiles and fix him up. And he wouldn't want to – He wouldn't want Stiles any more because he was damaged goods and -

“Stiles. Stiles,” Alan gripped his shoulder. “Breathe evenly. Can you do that? Slow, deep breaths. Breathe normally, that's it. Good.”

Stiles felt his chest moving against the bed as he forced his lungs to cooperate. His eyes were clenched shut and feeling cowardly, he didn't open them to face Alan. 

He felt the man sitting next to him, one hand coming up to rest against the back of his neck. “Good boy,” Alan whispered, and Stiles felt the concerns quiet again. Alan gripped his neck, giving it a small massage, and Stiles felt himself melt into the bed with a small groan. 

He felt Alan's warmth as he leant over him, head near his. He shivered at the feeling of Alan's breath on his ear and neck as Alan spoke, low and sure. “I'm going to wipe your back down with a warm cloth. Then I'm going to use some cream that has antiseptic. And a cream that helps with bruising and strained muscles, okay?”

Stiles nodded. The cloth was very warm. Alan wiped it from side to side across his shoulders and started moving further down. Stiles flinched when the warmth cloth dragged across particularly sensitive skin. 

Alan shushed him soothingly. He put the cloth aside for a moment. “Stiles,” he whispered, one hand in the young man's hair. “There's something I can give you. To help you relax. It'll help take the edge off any pain and let me do this with minimal discomfort. Would that be okay?” 

Stiles only had to process the words before he was nodding. 

“It's quite powerful,” Alan murmured. “Different people have different reactions. Sometimes there's side effects. There's probably some stuff in there you haven't had before. You might be allergic.”

“But if I am,” Stiles whispered back, finally opening his eyes, “you'll be able to help?” 

Alan nodded, fingering the top curve of Stile's ear “Yes.”

“I trust you,” Stiles said, letting his eyes fall shut again. He sat up slowly when Alan brought him what turned out to be a drink. “Not pills?” Stiles asked. 

“This works faster and is much more effective at this sort of thing,” Alan murmured, tipping the cup to Stile's lips. It tasted like herbs. It was only two watery mouthfuls, but he made a face afterwards. Alan chuckled, thumbing a drip away from his lower lip. “It's only half a dose. You should be fine, but let me know if you start to feel,” Alan's eyes glinted, “unusual in any way.” 

Stiles got back on his tummy on the bed. His limbs felt floppier, but Stiles chalked that up to feeling more relaxed because of Alan's attitude. He sighed as Alan continued wiping down his back, putting more pressure behind it. He groaned lowly. 

“Sore?” Alan asked. 

“Feels good,” Stiles sighed. He concentrated on the wallpaper across the room from him. “Feel kind of... floaty.”

“No pain?” 

“No pain.” 

“Good.” 

Alan patted him dry with a small cloth and began applying the antiseptic in the areas where skin had been broken or been thrashed thin. It felt like he was finger-painting on Stile's back. Stiles didn't know why he'd felt like he needed to keep anything from Alan. Alan made everything better. 

“Did you enjoy this when it happened to you?” Alan asked, voice even. 

“No.” Stiles tried to wriggle deeper into the bedspread. It was the most comfortable bedspread he'd ever lain on. 

“Why did this occur?”

“Matt got mad.” Stiles sighed, knowing he'd be asked to elaborate. “I did something wrong, I can't remember what, and he thought he should punish me.” Stiles blinked, feeling the eyelashes of one eye drag along the pillowcase as he blinked. “I was bad.”

“Stiles,” Alan said gently, “there are bruises here at different stages of healing.” Alan carefully applied cream to a stray welt that stretched over both of Stiles' buttocks. “Does he hurt you during your play-time together or when he's angry?”

“When he's angry.” Stiles frowned. “No. Both.” 

“What happened before you came here?” Alan asked, screwing the cap back on one cream and picking up the other. To make you come here, was left unasked but still awaiting an answer. 

Stiles shivered, a combination of memories and Alan's hands moving over him. “Matt got mad. He tried to-” Stiles turned his head from facing Alan's side to facing the other wall. “He was just angry. So I got out, and I knew he'd be angry I left. So it's better if I don't go back to the apartment for a while. That's who all the calls and texts will be from.”

“You left very quickly if you left without your wallet,” Alan said. 

It was just a statement. It didn't need an answer, but it was an invite if Stiles wanted to take it. 

“Matt said I'm not good with money. I mean, he's right – I bought an entire DVD set even though we were supposed to be saving, so he thought maybe it'd be good if he kept hold of my wallet so I couldn't, you know, waste all my money.” 

Alan had stopped touching him. “Stiles,” Alan said so softly he didn't know if he'd imagined it. 

“He gives me cash or my credit card when, you know, I've cleared any purchases with him. Or, like, on Mondays when I fill up my car and get groceries. It was a really good system. At first.” 

“Hmm.” Warm, thick hands were placed on his back and Alan started to massage the second cream in. 

Stiles groaned long and deep, feeling like this was the best massage he'd ever had. “Mm, that's amazing.” He hissed when Alan's thumb dug into a tender spot near his kidney. 

“Shh, sweet. I'll get you a little more tonic. You haven't had any reactions, so I'll give you a bit more.” 

Stiles swallowed another mouthful and a half of the stuff. Again, he felt this effects almost instantly. His limbs buzzed pleasantly. “It's like drinking an orgasm,” Stiles shared with a slight slur. Alan laughed and Stiles smiled with pride. There was no pain anywhere in his body now. No headache, no strained muscles, no sore joints. He couldn't feel anything except Alan's fingers as he massaged the cream in over his entire back and across his butt and thighs. His butt and thighs probably didn't need it, but Stiles appreciated the attention anyway. Stiles snuffled happily as Alan moved even further down and massaged his feet. Afterwards he came back and rubbed his neck and scalp, leaving a oily residue that stayed warm for several minutes afterwards. 

“Don't fall asleep,” Alan whispered in his ear. Stiles shivered with every inch of his body, as if Alan was touching him with his voice. “You didn't want to stay the night, remember? You fall asleep in my bed, and you won't be up by morning.”

Stiles pouted but lazily flopped his limbs into order to sit up straight and then stand. 

Alan smiled at him, fingertips brushing over Stiles' pouting lips. It left them tingling like crazy. “You can always change your mind and stay the night. No sex or bondage or games, I promise.” 

Stiles nodded to signal he understood. He licked his lips. “Maybe.” 

Alan retrieved some sweatpants from his dresser and pulled them over Stiles' hips, and then slid new socks onto his feet one by one. “Come, we'll watch TV and you can let the medicine sink in. Then we can discuss out options.” 

Stiles followed happily. Alan lounged back on the couch and gestured to Stiles. “It's better if you lay face down to watch TV, so the cream stays on you rather than the couch.”

Stiles crawled happily between Alan's legs, resting his chest on Alan's torso and tucking his head into Alan's neck. His legs were thrown out behind him, Alan's bracketing them in. Alan cupped the back of Stile's beck again, fingers digging in absent-mindedly, while using the remote. Another TV show was chosen and Stiles felt Alan's body settle in. 

Stiles didn't remember falling asleep. One moment he was getting into position on Alan's chest and wriggling in to get comfy, the next moment Alan was waking him. 

Stiles woke slowly, Alan repeating his name and shaking his shoulder. He didn't want to wake up. He felt like he was floating on a cloud. 

“Stiles?”

“Mhm.” 

“Stiles, sweet, look at me.” 

“Yeah?”

“Stiles, are you urinating?” 

Stiles' eyes widened at Alan in alarm. “No!” He took stock of his body. He didn't feel like he was. He raised himself up and looked down at the spreading wetness on the sweatpants. He looked back at Alan and whimpered. Now that he knew, he could feel it. “I can't stop!” 

“Shh, it's okay. Hop up. It's probably just the tonic.” 

Stiles scrambled to his feet, ashamed that wasn't his first instinct. He looked down in dismay as the stain kept spreading wider and wider. Now he didn't have the warmth of cuddling with Alan to disguise it, he could feel the warmth and wetness and the rapid cooling on the front of his body. 

Alan lead him to the bathroom. When he turned to face him, Stiles saw a smaller wet stain on the front of Alan's pants. Stiles thought he should be more embarrassed, but the tonic was probably making him too relaxed to be fully mortified. “I am so sorry. I can't believe I did that.” 

“It's okay. Like I said, it's probably the tonic. I'm sorry I didn't go through all of the side effects with you. Now I'm going to get some different pants. Would it be alright with you if, just until the tonic wears off, we put you in a diaper?” Alan asked with a frown of concern and understanding. 

Stiles nodded. He blushed. “I don't want to pee on you again.”

“Take those pants off and wipe yourself off. I'd suggest a shower but I don't want your back to get wet. I'll be right back.”

Stiles took the pants off, using toilet tissue he dampened from the tap to wipe his crotch and legs, and drying himself off with more of it. 

Alan came back with the supplies for the diaper as well as wet wipes. Stiles said nothing, a bubble of shame in his chest as Alan knelt in front of him and wiped his legs from the knees up with a wet wipe. He laid the towel down on the carpet of the bedroom and Stiles without being asked laid down. Alan didn't do it up immediately. In a move that made Stiles turn his head and squeeze his eyes shut, Alan lifted Stiles' legs into the air, hooking his ankles over Alan's shoulder. The manager got another wet wipe and slowly, carefully wiped over every inch of Stiles' cock and balls, his perineum, and even with one swipe between his cheeks. Then Alan sprinkled powder over his crotch before he wrapped up the diaper and pinned it closed. Then he slid the plastic pants over Stiles' legs. When he helped Stiles to his feet, he pulled the plastic pants all the way up over Stiles' hips, checking the leg holes to make sure it fully covered the diaper. 

Alan met his eyes and Stiles blushed. 

“I just realised – I didn't shave,” Stiles said by way of an apology. 

“You didn't know you were coming here. If you stay, I'll shave you myself tomorrow.” 

Stiles looked at Alan, as he stood in only socks and a diaper. He hadn't felt this safe and able to be himself in... well not since the last time he'd been here. “If you want me to, I'll stay. Otherwise, I can go. If you have other stuff to do...”

Alan stepped close, fully clothed body pressed against Stiles' chest. “There's not many things I'd rather do than put you in a diaper.” Stiles laughed, feeling all the pressure in his chest deflate. The moment continued, growing heavier. The only logical next step was to kiss. 

Alan stepped back to pick something up. “You can put these pants over the top,” handing Stiles another pair of sweats. It felt almost like a rejection. 

“Do you want me to put these on?” Stiles asked. 

Alan raised an eyebrow. “It doesn't matter what I want tonight. Wear what makes you feel the most comfortable.” 

Stiles bit his lower lip. What he wanted, what would make him feel most comfortable, was Alan telling him what to do. Was Alan telling him 'good boy'. He was pretty sure Alan would rather have him in just the diaper. Stiles handed back the pants. 

Alan accepted them, eyes smiling. “If you feel cold, you may return to the bedroom at any time to put them back on.” 

They were cuddling on the couch again, Alan with one hand in Stile's hair and the other hand lay with his thumb hooked underneath the diaper cloth and plastic so it rested at just the top of Stiles' crack. Stiles tried his best not to move but his cock was a hard line against his stomach where it lay pressed between their bodies. The gentle brush of his thumb was like a threat and a promise and for such a tiny gesture, Stiles thought he might explode from anticipation. 

“What other side effects are there?” Stiles asked during an ad break. 

“Mild hallucination. Feeling breathless. Loss of bladder control. Headaches-”

“Wait. I'm not- there's no chance- ...”

Alan raised an eyebrow as the body language equivalent of a question mark. 

“I'm not going to lose control of anything else, right? I mean, I'm not going to, you know... the diaper is just there for pee, right?” 

Alan laughed. “You should be fine. If you'd like, I could give you a pre-emptive enema?”

Stiles blushed. “I'm fine.”

Alan's thumb drifted a half-inch lower down his crack. “Are you?” 

Stiles felt like he was floating again, playing this game with Alan. “Am I?” 

Alan smiled, lips slowly dragging upwards. “If you want an enema, sweet, you're going to have to ask for one.”

Stiles breathed in heavily. “I don't want an enema... doctor. But if you were to suggest one, I'd go along with your medical advice.” 

Alan leant forward, bringing their faces closer. “And if I were to suggest a very large, very warm enema that'd make you sweat to hold it all in? Would you take that 'medical advice'?”

Stiles swallowed. “Yes, doctor.” 

“And if I told you to hold it in for an excruciatingly long time, without a butt plug to help you, would you accept that as medical advice?”

Stiles felt like lust were dragging his eyelids shut. His nipples were hard. “Yes, doctor.” 

“What if a major ingredient in the enema was my piss? And after one enema to clean you out, I made you release the next enema in your diaper?” 

Stiles moaned as his hips hitched against Alan's leg. He felt dizzy with lust. Screw everything, he wanted to ride Alan right here and now on the couch. 

Stiles craned his neck forward so his lips rubbed against Alan's as they spoke. “Please fuck me.”

Alan leant back with a smirk. “No, sweet. Not until I've thoroughly cleaned you out first. I like pets like you clean, inside and out.”

Stiles moaned, continuing to hump Alan's leg. 

“Shh, Stiles,” Alan said, carding a hand through his hair. “No playing tonight. You've had strong medicine and were disturbed when you got here earlier. Tomorrow, if you want, we'll play.” Stiles moaned in disappointment. “I'm sorry sweet, I shouldn't have let it carry on.” Alan took his hand from Stiles' hair and thrust two thick fingers into Stiles' mouth. “But you can hump my leg until you come, if you'd like.” Stiles whimpered, looking into eyes intently cataloguing every reaction. “I know how needy, slutty little things like you can't help being greedy when it comes to orgasms. So if you need to hump my leg like a bitch in heat to get off, you have my permission.” Stiles moaned around the fingers, eagerly accepting a third when Alan thrust it in as well, humping faster at the dirty talk in Alan's calm, steady voice. “Come into your diaper like a good little boy,” Alan whispered. Stiles whimpered, hips stuttering at the intensity of their interaction. “Come,” Alan ordered. “Now.” And Stiles did. 

Stiles was floating in afterglow, buoyed by Alan's chest, when he asked, “What's different now?”

“Hm?”

“Before... the first time we met. You knocked me unconscious somehow and I woke up in a bathtub freaking out, and you'd done stuff to me in my sleep. And now you won't do anything 'cause I'm kind of up-set? And drugged? S'never stopped you before.” 

Alan chuckled, Stiles feeling his ear vibrate where it was pressed to Alan's chest. “True.” A finger curved its way down Stile's back, twisting like a snake down his spine. “It's different now,” Alan murmured, other hand stroking Stiles' hair to lull him into sleep. Once Stiles had completely relaxed, breath deep and even, Alan murmured, “You're mine now.”


End file.
